“Why, why, thank you,” Ivar said. He wasn’t hungry, but supposed he could get the food down. It smelled spicy.
“We have one dining saloon below, with table and benches, if you wish,” the girl told him.
“No!” The idea of being needlessly enclosed, after desert heavens and then nights outdoors in valley summer with Fraina, sickened him.
“Pardon, pardon.” She drew back a step. He realized he had yelled.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m in bad way. Didn’t mean to sound angry. Right here will be fine.” She smiled and set her burden down on the planks, near a bulwark against which he could rest, “Uh, my name is Iv—Rolf Mariner.”
“This person is Jao, fourth daughter to Captain Riho Mea. She bade me to see to your comfort. Can I help you in any wise, Sir Mariner?” The child dipped her head above bridged fingertips.
“I … well, I don’t know.” Who can help me, ever again?
“Perhaps if I stay near you one while, show you over our ship later? You may think of something then.”
Her cleanliness reminded him of his grime and sour sweat-smell, unkempt hair and stubbly chin. “I, uh, I should have washed before breakfast.”
“Eat, and I will lead you to the bath, and bring what else you need to your cabin. You are our only guest this trip.” Her glance swept aloft and came aglow. “Ai, the beautiful flyer from the stars. How could I forget? Can you summon him while I fetch his food?”
“He eats only meat, you know. Or, no, I reckon you wouldn’t. Anyhow, I’ll bet he’s already caught piece of wild game. He sees us, and he’ll come down when he wants to.”
“If you say it, sir. May I bring my bowl, or would you rather be undisturbed?”
“Whatever you want,” Ivar grunted. “I’m afraid I’m poor company this mornin’.”
“Perhaps you should sleep further? My mother the captain will not press you. But she said that sometime this day she must see you and your friend, alone.”
Passengers had quarters to themselves if and when a vessel was operating below capacity in that regard. Crew did not. Children were raised communally from birth … physically speaking. The ties between them and their parents were strong, far stronger than among tinerans, although their ultimate family was the ship as a whole. Married couples were assigned cubicles, sufficient for sleeping and a few personal possessions. Certain soundproofed cabins were available for study, meditation, or similar purposes. Aside from this, privacy of the body did not exist, save for chaplain and captain.
The latter had two chambers near the bridge. The larger was living room, office, and whatever else she deemed necessary.
Her husband greeted her visitors at the door, then politely excused himself. He was her third, Jao had remarked to Ivar. Born on the Celestial Peace, when quite a young girl Mea had been wedded by the usual prearrangement to a man of the Red Bird Banner. He drowned when a skiff capsized; the Flone had many treacheries. She used her inheritance in shrewd trading, garnering wealth until the second officer of the Jade Gate met her at a fleet festival and persuaded her to move in with him. He was a widower, considerably older than she; it was a marriage of convenience. But most were, among the Kuang Shih. Theirs functioned well for a number of years, efficiently combining their talents and credit accounts, incidentally producing Jao’s youngest sister. At last an artery in his brain betrayed him, and rather than linger useless he requested the Gentle Cup. Soon afterward, the captain died also, and the officers elected Riho Mea his successor. Lately she had invited Haleku Uan of the Yellow Dragon to marry her. He was about Ivar’s age.
Jao must have read distaste on the Firstling’s countenance, for she had said quietly: “They are happy together. He is merely one carpenter, nor can she raise him higher, nor can he inherit from her except in lung-proportion to children of hers that are his too; and she is past childbearing and he knew it.”
He thought at the time that she was defending her mother, or even her stepfather. As days passed, he came to believe she had spoken unspectacular truth. The Riverfolk had their own concept of individuality.
To start with, what did riches mean? Those who were not content to draw their regular wage, but drove personal bargains with the Ti Shih, the Shorefolk, could obtain no more than minor luxuries for themselves; a ship had room for nothing else. Beyond that, they could simply make contributions to the floating community. That won rewards of prestige. But anybody could get the same by outstanding service or, to a lesser extent, unusual prowess or talent.
Prestige might bring promotion. However, authority gave small chance for self-aggrandizement either, in a society which followed the same peaceful round through century after century.
Why, then, did the people of the land think of Riverfolk as hustlers, honest but clever, courteous but ambitious? Ivar decided that these were the personality types who dealt with the people of the land. The rest kept pretty much to themselves. And yet, that latter majority had abundant ways to express itself.
These ideas came to him later. They did have their genesis the evening he first entered the cabin of Captain Riho.
Sunbeams struck level, amber-hued, through the starboard windows of the main room. They sheened off a crystal on a shelf, glowed off a scroll of trees and calligraphy above. The chamber was so austerely furnished as to feel spacious. In one corner, half-hidden by a carved screen, stood a desk and a minimum of data and communications equipment. In another stood a well-filled bookcase. Near the middle of the reed matting which covered the deck was a padded, ring-shaped bench, with a low table at the center and a couple of detachable back rests for the benefit of visiting Ti Shih.
The skipper came forward, and Ivar began changing his mind about her and her man. She was of medium height, plump yet extraordinarily light on her feet. Years had scarcely touched the snubnosed, dark-ivory face, apart from crinkles around the eyes and scattered white in the hair. Her mouth showed capacity for a huge grin. She wore the common blue tunic and trousers, zori on bare feet, fireburst tattoo on the arm which slid from its sleeve as she offered her hand. The palm was warm and callused.
“Ahoa, welcome passengers.” Her voice verged on hoarseness. “Will you not honor me by taking seats and refreshment?” She bowed them toward the bench, and from the inner room fetched a trayful of tea, cakes, and slices of raw ichthyoid flesh. The ship lurched in a crosscurrent off a newly formed sandbar, and she came near dropping her load. She rapped out a phrase. Catching Erannath’s alert look, she translated it for him. Ivar was a little shocked. He had thought soldiers knew how to curse.
She kicked off her sandals, placed herself crosslegged opposite her guests, and opened a box of cigars that stood on the table. “You want?” she offered. They both declined. “Mind if I do?” Ivar didn’t—What has creation got that’s worth mindin’?—and Erannath stayed mute though a ripple passed over his plumes. Captain Riho stuck a fat black cylinder between her teeth and got it ignited. Smoke smote the air.
“I hope you are comfortable?” she said. “Sir … Erannath … if you will give my husband the specs for your kind of bed—”
“Later, thank you,” the flyer snapped. “Shall we get to the point?”
“Fine. Always I was taught, Ythrians do not waste words. Here is my first pleasure to meet your breed. If you will please to pardon seeming rudeness—you are aboard curious-wise. I would not pry but must know certain things, like where you are bound.”